Epoch
by Xirysa
Summary: There are some stories that transcend time—and, perhaps, even legends. Joshua and Marisa.


**Epoch**

* * *

_—and in these endless desert days, the story never ends._

* * *

While his mother the queen ruled the land of the desert sands, Joshua II of Jehanna was known to have traveled far and wide, learning of the people who lived there, and why, living alongside them so that he may better understand and help them when he took the throne as king.

As he traveled, the king met many people, and did many wonderful things. He aided the armies of the princes and princesses of the east and north as they battled an ancient evil, and together they banished it from the land, and peace was restored. But with this peace came great and terrible sacrifice and grief, and it buried deep into his soul, and stayed there, even when he was crowned king.

It was said, then, that though the king was a strong, healthy man, on the night of the new moon, his dreams were plagued by demons and nightmarish fiends born of this unfathomable sadness, and he could not wake until morning, when the pale morning light touched the distant horizon and the sun began its ascent to the center of the vast desert sky. The royal physician would arrive, then, with his medicinal leeches, in order to purge the king of the blackness that ate at him, and a young, healthy lamb would be sacrificed at the temple altar.

They called it "Anah's Curse", this illness that plagued the young king, for it was said that Anah herself had fought and helped to seal away these very evils before founding the great nation in the sands, and this sickness had plagued her as well during the time of her rule. None knew how to cure the king—no one but a young swordwoman the king had met on his travels, and now held a position as one of the king's personal guard.

On the night of the new moon, she came to his room, and there would stay with the king until the dreams would pass, behind closed doors until the sun rose again in the morning.

Two years passed as such, and the woman continued to heal the king. The advisors and physicians did not know what happened these nights, but in time the king grew well, and the wind across the desert sands no longer carried upon it the ashes of the dead.

* * *

On a long ago festival night, when the dusty streets of Jehanna resounded with laughter and music, the moon hung large and pale and full in the sky, and two lovers stole away into the cool fragrance of the gardens as the dark skies above burst in a shower of color and flaming sparks.

They lay together on the bank of a small, clear pool in a grassy clearing, beneath a bower of jasmine and twining passionflower, with their heavy silken robes spread beneath them, cool and smooth against flushed skin. She shuddered and fell against him, and he reached his own peak moments later, and as they caught their breath, she up with her knees drawn to her chest, and looked up.

He propped himself up on one arm and watched as she gazed at the sky, her eyes following the path of the shower of lights above them. A soft breeze wafted through the gardens; she shivered as the wind blew against her sweat-slicked skin and tousled, damp hair. Without thinking he reached out and brushed his fingers along her bare arm, and he smirked when, like a gazelle, she started at his touch.

"What?" she asked bluntly, but she did not pull away.

He shrugged and turned his face to the heavens. "What are you looking at?" he asked her in turn, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

She turned away from him and looked back to the skies, the continued explosions of the fireworks bright against the inky backdrop of the sky. "You can't see the stars."

For a moment, he did not respond. "No," he finally said, "you can't."

"The fireworks are too bright. Their light hides the stars." She had not bothered to remove the ornamentation she had been given to wear for the earlier festivities, and the bright gold reflected the explosions in the sky. He continued to watch her—even now, he was unused to the finely crafted pieces that hung from her ears, around her neck and wrists, the finely wrought chain upon her brow, the bright jewels that adorned her slight, lithe figure, and it was clear to him that she was a woman who could no longer be what she once was.

"Do you miss it?" He sat up and looked at her directly, now. "Do you miss them?"

Now she looked at him, and her face did not show even the barest trace of emotion. "Yes," she told him, "and no." Then she turned away, back to the sky; the display of fire and light in the sky was coming to an end, the bursts of color brighter and more intense than before. With a final resounding crash, the blue-black sky became alive with sparks and flashes of light—and then, as quickly as they had begun, they stopped, leaving wisps of smoke illuminated by the moon in their wake.

They sat there silently, in that cool, dark clearing with the scent of the night-queens and pale white lotuses on the air, until warm red fingers of sunlight began to touch the land over the horizon, and together they slipped unnoticed into the great marble palace they now called home.

* * *

The third annual celebration of the moon festival since the end of the great war marked the engagement of Joshua II, the Tempest King, to the renowned mercenary girl he had chosen as his consort. The people accepted this with great joy, for despite being of common birth, the girl was famed for her prowess with the blade and stood at the side of the king as his most trusted knight and protector, and they believed it right that only a swordswoman of the highest caliber stand beside their beloved king as his queen. It was said that many of the king's closest ministers and advisors had been against the match, instead urging the king to forge an alliance with the nations to the north and west, but the king would not hear of it.

"Do you not remember the hero Anah?" he demanded of them in the long, open hall where he held court. "Is power so important to you that you do not remember our land's history?" His voice was soft, and yet the strength with which he spoke still cowed these great learned men. "She was nothing more than the wife of a poor swordsmith when she took up her slain husband's sword, and yet she became one of the five great heroes who sealed away the Demon King and founded our land of white dunes as her legacy."

The ministers fell silent at this, for they all knew the king's words to be true, and yet one man still persisted; he was called David, and King Joshua knew him well, for David had long served and counseled the royal family, and was a man who could be trusted to speak with sense and wisdom. And so the king bade him to speak.

"My king," David said to him with a boldness that the other ministers could not dare to match, "an alliance with the countries of the north and west would bring only good to this land. The darkness has passed from here, it is true, but what if it should come again?"

At this, the king smiled. "There are some pacts that run thicker than marriage and blood, my old friend." He lifted his chin with the confidence of one who knows he has won, and fixed his gaze upon the ministers gathered before him. "The time to make such an alliance with our neighbors will come, but now is not the time for it."

But old David was not swayed. "But what of King Frelia and King Renais? Both are powerful men, and a bond with their families can only do good for Jehanna. You have fought alongside them, Lord of the Sands, and you know of their wit and cunning. Should they turn against you…"

"They will not," said the king to David. "Powerful though they are, the kings of the west are good men. They have no love for war, and now wish only for peace. Just as I wish for it." His eyes shone with the fire of the sun, and even the old minister fell silent. "Do not forget that."

David bowed. "Forgive me, my king," he said softly.

King Joshua nodded. "I do not blame you," he replied. "You want only what is best for Jehanna. As do I." He smiled. "Arrange the marriage."

* * *

In the courtyard of the great temple, on a raised marble pedestal, stood a sandstone statue of a woman. It was archaic in form, with almost comically wide hips and monstrous breasts, and yet there was still something almost maternal about it, despite the fact that the desert winds had long ago worn away any of the statue's more distinguishing features.

He often wondered what she had been like, Anah of the Endless Sands—only a few stories about Jehanna's greatest hero were still told, now, to small children when dusk darkened, gradually, into night. Of tangible and written accounts, there were fewer still.

"Jeha n'Anah."

She looked at him, confused. "What?"

"In the old tongue, it meant _Anah's land_," he replied. "It's where the name _Jehanna_ comes from. That's what the scribes and scholars say." He shrugged, and folded his arms over his chest. "What do you think?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. She died eight hundred years ago. No one knows anything about her."

He raised an eyebrow at the response. "I didn't ask you what you knew," he said. "Just what you think."

"Of what?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her closely as he indicated the statue. "Anything," he told her. "Whatever you want."

She did not respond immediately, but only after a few moments had passed. One hand brushed against her thigh, and he remembered the small, sharp dagger she kept hidden there, thin enough to slip silently between ribs and puncture a lung. It had come as one of a pair; he kept its match tucked discreetly in his sleeve. Finally, she answered. "Anah was a fool."

"A fool?" He blinked. "What makes you say that?"

"She was a great hero, but died in her lover's bed when he slit her open. Like a lamb for slaughter."

The death of Anah seemed to be the only thing the scholars and priests agreed on: a tragic tale of a traitorous love and a hero lost forever. "She was betrayed by the man she loved," he countered.

"But he didn't love her." She turned to face him, face expressionless. "He wanted her power. Not _her_."

The way she said it, so flatly and direct, irked him, somehow, and he frowned as an unwanted memory came to mind, the image of pale woman dying slowly in his arms branded in his brain forever. "But her children redeemed her. They killed the traitor in revenge, and Anah's eldest son took the throne. There was peace for eight hundred years."

She shook her head. "Anah was a fool," she repeated. "Only a fool dies because of love."

"It's a good thing you're not a fool, then," he replied wryly.

She nodded, her face still an expressionless mask, and turned back to the statue. "Yes," she said, "I know."

He turned away from her. "We'd better get going. The priest is waiting for us." He strode purposefully toward the temple; she said nothing, and followed him; Anah the Fool continued to look down at them, the remnants of the smile on her face never wavering.

* * *

In the months following the great war, many of the great buildings of Jehanna's capitol were rebuilt and restored. Among these were the temple and the surrounding gardens, and the intricate paths that led from there to the grand hall where the old kings and queens had once held court.

One of these paths led not to a temple or holy building, but to a garden in which delicate pale nightqueen twined and blossomed, surrounding a simple statue hewn from white marble. This statue was unlike any that stood in the capitol, for it did not carry the air of a more ancient time; the figure was that of a female warrior, blade drawn and ready as she stood with her long hair streaming behind her, poised and ready to attack. Her expression was grim, yet sad, and bittersweet.

The statue had been commissioned by the king, and created by an artisan from the east. It was a present for his bride-to-be, and she accepted it humbly, and with grace. For years after, the identity of the woman depicted by the statue became speculation for the people of the capitol, yet, on this matter, the king and the bride said not a single word.

* * *

It was still dark when she spoke to him.

"Your dreams," she asked. "Have they faded?"

He did not answer immediately. Instead he sat, and watched her. "No." He brushed the hair away from his eyes. "Not completely."

"I'm sorry," came the reply as she, too, sat up, and then silence once more. It stretched on, and when it was clear that she would not speak anymore, he lay down, and rested his head in her lap.

"There lived a hero," he told her as he closed his eyes, "a woman, a sword master, gifted with beauty, and deadly skill with a sword. She became known throughout the land for her deeds, and men came from far and wide. They sought her power and grace, but none could match her." He felt her stiffen, but continued. "Until, one day, a man—an ally—challenged her to battle, and she accepted. They fought, but no one emerged the victor. And so woman traveled with the man, and continued to challenge him, and he challenged her, until the end of their days."

She shifted, slightly. "And who won?"

He shrugged and moved away from her, to his own place on the bed. "No one knows," he replied. "No one knows how the story really ends, either. Some say the man killed the woman. Others say she drove the man to madness."

"You are strange," she told him. He heard the faint scrape of leather against the cool stone floor, the dull sounds of a sword's pommel, bound in cloth to muffle any noise it might make, hitting the wooden edge of the bed.

"I've been told that," he replied. He ran one finger along the edge of the dagger in his hand idly before sheathing it and placing it beneath his pillow again. "You're just the same."

Again, she shifted, but toward him, this time. "Maybe."

He moved closer to her, and wrapped an arm around her waist, before pressing his lips to the nape of her neck. "Good night," he told her.

* * *

The wedding of the Lord of the Sands to his mercenary bride took place half a year after the moon festival, and was celebrated with great pomp and circumstance. The streets were alive, with the songs of the priests and their drums and flutes, the hawking of vendors selling their wares and the happy shrieks of children as they ran through the dusty streets.

King Joshua stood tall and proud, wearing same heavy red-and-gold mantle and silk robes his father had worn on his wedding day nearly thirty years before—the vestments that were bestowed upon all kings of Jehanna, since the time of his great-grandfather's father years and years ago. Beside him stood his young bride, only just out of girlhood. And yet she stood, back straight, proud and graceful, beside her husband the king.

The people were happy, for their land once again had a noble king and a strong queen, and peace was once more restored to Jehanna, and as they stepped out onto the balcony of the temple, high above the crowds, the people cheered at the sight of them.

Jehanna had a king and queen once again. All was well.

* * *

**Xirysa Says:** Some brief notes.

Originally, this started off as an entry for a long-ago round of FE Contest. It then morphed into something that could be used for a more recent round, that I never got around to finishing. Interesting how things change so much in the writing process.

Actually, I really do not like Marisa at all—as a character, or a unit, or anything—and I honestly have little to no interest in her, but she just fit this story, and the overall theme, much better than other characters, and I have a really hard time seeing her relationship with Joshua as being even remotely romantic. But the other characters mentioned, and their stories, have some interesting parallels to what I can see the relationship between Joshua and Marisa potentially becoming.

There's some references to some popular literature/storytelling, such as in "The Thousand and One Arabian Nights" and early faiths reminiscent of early Abrahamic practices for things like worldbuilding and the like, and some inspiration from a book I remember reading once as a child, but for the life of me, I can't recall what it was, or who the author was.

Alternatively, just know that I have a lot of thoughts when it comes to Jehanna and worldbuilding, and I am rather a fan of this experimentation with this particular writing style.

So, as always, thanks for reading; feedback is appreciated.


End file.
